Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1)

by Starla Huchton

  He was interrupted, but she couldn’t hear what was said.

  “Yes, Highest One.” Brother Cross bowed low and backed away. “I will see she is unharmed.”

  He scuttled off, taking the other bowler hat with him. The cloaked figures discussed something further before moving off in the same direction. Jiao grinned. Captain Sterling had escaped again.

  She thought, for a moment, that all of the action was over, when one last group plodded by. Four men, each holding a pole, carried a crate between them. It wasn’t an overly large box, perhaps big enough for a man to sit in. Whatever it was, she didn’t like it. Nothing these men possessed resulted in anything good.

  Not long after, one of her runners rejoined her. Through hand signals, Jiao determined the main forces would arrive in less than five minutes. They were losing precious time. For all they knew, that crate was a bomb set to explode in four minutes. She weighed her options.

  If someone saw her, it was possible they would mistake her for a local. Most Europeans couldn’t tell a Chinese from a Siamese, claiming all of them looked the same. She sniffed indignantly. She would put their ignorance to good use.

  Motioning for her men to stay put, and despite their frantic arguments, Jiao looked around the corner, saw no one, and stepped out into the next room. Remaining close to the wall, she tread as silently as she could. The men with lanterns were gone, but their torches remained in brackets in the empty hall beyond the recess. There was enough light to tell no guards were posted across from her. She reached the end of the wall and pressed herself to it before checking around the next corner. A quick scan revealed no one behind her position on either side of the hall.

  Looking up towards the front, Jiao gaped at the two massive doors standing wide open. Some of the torchlight spilled into the next room, but it wasn’t bright enough to see more than a short way inside. Tiptoeing to the other side of the recess, she continued her surveillance. Why hadn’t the Brotherhood left a lookout posted? She thought perhaps the interior was too large to guard, and they opted not to spread out their forces. There were merits to the strategy, though leaving the entrance unguarded seemed foolish.

  Satisfied she was alone, Jiao entered the main cavern. Smeared, wet piles of clothing scattered about left her unsettled. She disregarded them and pushed on. Upon reaching the next room, her jaw went slack. Suspended from the dark ceiling, giant blue orbs cast everything in a dim, cerulean glow. It wasn’t enough light to see in great detail, but the strange luminescence highlighted the major angles and curves of behemoth sculptures before her. Impossible to discern if they were animal or human shapes, her eyes traveled down the monoliths. Each five-story figure sat atop a square pedestal roughly ten feet high. What little light there was showed an unending procession of these structures continuing through the room. If they were meant to intimidate visitors, they successfully accomplished their goal with her.

  She realized her vulnerable position out in the open and skittered to the leftmost wall. Concealed by the shadow of a giant pillar that climbed to the ceiling, she was in a better position to see any unfriendly visitors. She listened intently. Wherever the men disappeared to, they did so quickly. She gauged the distance to the first pedestal to be about ten yards. With one last check, she darted out from her hiding place, stopping safely against the base of the nearest one. Looking up, she imagined giant eyes watching her, concealed in the dark. After a brief shudder, she made another visual sweep. Still empty. Still silent. On to the next pedestal.

  Iris did not have the patience for this sort of thing. When she arrived where Jiao was supposed to be waiting, a small army trickling in behind her, she was met with five nervous runners, all wringing their hands worriedly. She clenched and unclenched her fists in an effort to channel her frustration. It wasn’t working. The men didn’t need to explain. Iris knew Jiao had gone ahead. Alone.

  Some part of her suspected this might happen. The girl was too headstrong for her own good. Doubtless she could take care of herself in a fight, but against who-knew-how-many men? Her recklessness showed her age.

  The runners informed her that the hall around the corner was empty, and Jiao disappeared through the already open entrance. “At least the lock won’t be an issue,” Iris muttered to herself.

  “The way is clear,” Danton reassured her. “All Brotherhood men have gone into the ruins. No guards posted. Their forces might not be as large as we feared if they couldn’t spare a man for watch. This is good news. Perhaps we’ll catch them up before they reach their destination.”

  “Do you think they built the machine?” Eddie asked, a bit louder than he should have. Iris glared at him for the mistake. In truth, she forgot he was there. He was unusually quiet.

  “It’s probably a safe assumption,” Danton answered, and then turned to Iris. “One of Jiao’s runners mentioned hearing of an escape. Perhaps the captain and Monsieur Jensen are still alive?”

  Iris nodded. “I believe you are correct, Monsieur DuSalle. After all the tracking, I sense Rachel nearby, though I cannot say how far. Were she dead, I think this would not be the case. Mr. Jensen is most likely with her, but this is only speculation on my part.”

  “Shall we proceed then?” Danton awaited her orders.

  She thought for a moment before answering. “Yes. Take a small group of men and track their movements if you can. Leave a trail to follow. You will have a five-minute head start. If you find them, remember that.”

  He gave a nod and receded into the jumble of men behind him. A thought struck Iris, an idea Rachel would have approved of. She looked over at Eddie who was adjusting a strap on his pack. “Mr. Maclaren…”

  He looked up. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Do you know anything about timers?”

  Dizziness plagued her. Even though there was a little light to see by, her eyes remained shut tight, and she focused on staying conscious. How she managed to run so far, so fast after surviving the bloodletting and days of abuse was a miracle. Now, as they crouched in the long-abandoned hallway, it caught up to Rachel.

  With Silas’s guidance, they made it through the room of monoliths. The far end of the gallery was lined with entrances to hallways, each archway lit by blue cylinders. The light was the same as the ceiling orbs, functioning as some sort of emergency lighting. Those ancient Gods of the Western Seas certainly built for longevity.

  Several of the center hallways had grander archways with ornate framing. Others were smaller and inconspicuous. With nothing in the way of a map available, they chose one less visibly distinct and pushed forward. More of the azure light fixtures dotted the passageway at random intervals, and it was enough to guide them around the bits of debris that littered the ground. The rush of escape drained away as they stepped around the detritus, and her knees went weak.

  Silas caught her before she fell. As he supported her in his arms, he studied their surroundings. They passed several branching hallways, but opted to continue in a straight line to avoid getting lost. Four branches lay behind them, a fifth within sight.

  “Just a little further, Captain,” he whispered in her ear. “Then you can rest.”

  She could have kissed him then. It wasn’t often that she needed to rely on anyone, let alone to this extent. She hadn’t thought of him as particularly strong or dependable until now, and felt very ashamed of how she’d been treating him.

  “Sit for a moment.” He guided her to a toppled pedestal. “I’m going to see what’s ahead.”

  She nodded weakly as she sat, and did her best to keep herself together. By the time he returned to her several minutes later, she was doubled over, head resting on her knees.

  “Still with me?” He bent down and touched her shoulder. Rachel looked up at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “I need you to open a door. We’ll be safe then.” At the word “door,” a surge of panic welled up in her stomach. Her fear must have been visible, because he added, “it isn’t the same as before. I only need you to push a handle, that’s all.
I promise.”

  Too weak to protest, she sighed and leaned on him as he pulled her to her feet. They stumbled down the hall and turned to the left. Half a dozen doors down, they stopped. Rachel reached out and grabbed hold of the handle, wincing in expectation. The pain never came. Relieved, she pushed it down and the door swung open.

  Not a moment too soon, they stumbled through and closed the door behind them, hearing the sounds of voices and footsteps now. Silas guided her to the left corner of the room, away from the door. They might be safe for a while.

  Even after they kneeled on the floor, Rachel continued to hang on to Silas. Her hands gripped the unbuttoned collar of his shirt as her forehead rested on his chest, and her shoulders shook as she pulled in one breath after another. Wrapping his left arm around her back, he gave her a reassuring squeeze and smoothed her hair.

  That small gesture was enough to provoke sudden, silent sobs from her. She didn’t cry out. She didn’t beat her fists against him. Rachel simply wept quietly, clinging to the man that, until recently, she discounted so completely. For weeks she managed to push away the stress of being tracked down, shot at, chained up, and beaten, but her weakened physical condition caused her façade of impenetrability to crumble. So there she was, hanging on to the only person she could, the floodgates of emotion letting loose a torrent she didn’t know she was capable of. She couldn’t stop herself. They’d most likely be dead in a few hours anyway, so what was the point in regret?

  The thought triggered a moment of clarity. “Silas…” she managed between ragged breaths.

  “Shh.” He stilled his hand on her head.

  “But—”

  “Rachel, shh,” he interrupted. “Listen.”

  She heard it then. Movement and voices just beyond the door. Rachel gripped his collar tighter. It was now or never.

  Closing her eyes, she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his. If this was to be the last man she ever kissed, she could do much, much worse than Silas Jensen.

  At last, Jiao caught sight of movement. She’d been prowling through the shadows for far too long. The chance for action sent a thrill through her. She slipped a hand down to her belt and pulled a throwing star free. The darkness presented a challenge, but she was confident in her ability to take down a target.

  She crept closer to make sure this wasn’t an ally. The bowler hat confirmed his enemy status. With a flick of her wrist, the star was away.

  Direct hit. The figure crumpled without protest, his spine severed by razor-sharp steel.

  Where there was one, there were more. She dropped into a crouch and stalked along the base of a pedestal. As she checked the next corner, a small group of figures strolled into view. The arrogant fools hadn’t even entertained the possibility someone would find them here. They were looking for someone, assuming not carrying a lantern would increase their stealth. She pressed herself against the base and waited for them to come closer. The three men stopped short of the turn, and there was whispered discussion of the direction they should take before they decided to reverse course. Silently, Jiao grabbed the nearest one from behind, clamped her hand over his mouth and nose, and snapped his neck before the other two heard a thing. She darted back around the corner, and, using the wall to propel her upwards, grabbed for the top edge of the pedestal, pulling herself up and over. With a cry of alarm, the two remaining men rounded the bend, looking for the mysterious assailant. At the next corner, they split, one going left, the other, right, to the next monument over.

  Jiao followed the first one as she danced along the edge of the pedestal. At the next corner, he paused to think. A quick swipe of her sword across his throat and he was no longer a threat. She dropped from the ledge and skittered across the divide to the next base. She listened intently. After a moment of silence, she launched herself back up onto the ledge. Moving slowly, she searched in the darkness for the remaining man. She caught sight of him hurrying to his fallen comrade. When he bent to touch the body, Jiao slipped to the floor. Gurgling his last cries for help, the third member of the patrol collapsed into a growing pool of his own blood.

  The scenario played out four more times before Jiao caught sight of the main force. The group siphoned off into archways lining the end of the room. Most of the men headed down the largest of these. She liked a test of skill as much as anyone, but this was beyond her capabilities. It was time to wait for reinforcements. There was no sense in wasting the opportunity to eliminate the scattered, outlying patrols, however. Jiao backed away, returning to her vendetta.

  The first body nearly tripped him. It took Danton a moment to determine what the mass was, but by the third corpse, he was no longer surprised. These killings were not Rachel’s style, and from what he knew of Silas Jensen, they were not his either. Only one possibility remained: the wayward princess was on the warpath.

  Cutlass in one hand, dagger in the other, he crept forward with the group of thirteen men he selected. Their job was to eliminate any posted watches in order to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible. It seemed their mission was being done for them, however. He couldn’t complain; she was incredibly efficient.

  The slightest movement of air brushed the hairs on his neck and he froze. Instinct moved him before conscious thought. As he dropped to the floor, he shoved the men on either side of him forward. The blade sang as it sliced through the darkness, inches from the top of his head. He hissed her name as quietly as he could manage, and sensed the stillness. “You’ve been busy, Princess,” he whispered as he turned to face the girl.

  Her tense posture relaxed as she recognized him. “Apologies, Monsieur DuSalle. The shadows here play tricks with one’s eyes.”

  “How many of these?” Danton made a vague motion to the nearest corpse.

  “By my count, twenty-two,” she answered quickly. Were it bright enough to see, he was sure she’d be grinning at him.

  “Was that a challenge, Princess?”

  “Do not call me Princess, Monsieur DuSalle, unless you wish to obtain an equally unflattering name for yourself. As for the challenge…” she trailed off, her head jerking to the right as a sound caught her attention. Quicker than a cat, Jiao bolted out of sight.

  Danton smiled. The game was afoot.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Lights

  It was not what he expected. One moment, tears dampened his shirt, the next, he was pressed against the wall, Rachel’s lips firmly against his own. The voices from the hallway faded from his conscious thought. Gone were the cares of who moved beyond the doorway of their shelter. He knew he shouldn’t take advantage of the situation. He knew it was the intensity of the moment and her weak condition that pushed her to this. He knew she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  The problem was that, even though he knew all of those things, he couldn’t force himself to do anything about them. The facts were simply pesky flies buzzing about his brain. Had Rachel not dropped like a limp rag as he was getting used to his circumstances, he’d have missed the conversation outside altogether.

  “Can’t get near the handle, Brother.”

  “Another one of these, then, is it?”

  “Your orders?”

  There was a pause.

  “Move along. We’ve already found dozens of these. There’s naught for it.”

  Footsteps scuffled away. Silas exhaled, suddenly aware he’d been holding his breath. Finally, all sound receded. He laid a hand on Rachel’s back. She was breathing shallowly, but breathing still.

  He remained where he was, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t have any medical training, and no knowledge of Aether Manipulation. All he did was take her out of the enemy’s immediate grasp. What good was that if she died anyway?

  He lifted her hand to examine it by the dim blue light above the door. It was impossible to make out anything of importance this far away. Maybe, if he could get her closer to the light source, he could see her wounds and at least bandage them.

  He shifted Rachel
’s dead weight off of his lap and stood. Among the debris he could see, he found a wide metal bench a few feet away. It was surprisingly light when he tried to lift it, and he managed to position it to the right of the doorframe with little noise. Not much else he recognized would help him for now. Trying not to jostle her, he lifted her from beneath her arms. When he got her to the seat, he propped her against the wall, minding her head. From there, he lifted her arm to the light.

  When her hand neared the wall, everything changed. Circuits, thousands of years old, sprang to life. Silas dropped her arm, shocked to see sconces glowing a dim orange, then yellow, and settling when they warmed to an ivory. For the first time in modern human history, Silas Jensen laid eyes on the objects of a long dead race.

  Given the age of the place, the room was in amazing condition. A workbench butted up to the rear wall, a chair toppled in front of it. To the right, the remains of a mattress on a metal frame. Control panels lined the wall along the bed, colored symbols scrolling along their displays. Scattered instruments surrounded another small table, knocked over in the middle of the floor. These were more familiar objects: a knife, tweezers, forceps, and various other doctor’s tools. By some twist of luck, Silas found a medical station.

  This was all well and good, but the blinking panels and rusting equipment were of little use to him. Silas looked back to Rachel, who slid from her propped position. Taking her up once more, he moved her to the infirmary bed, if for nothing else but to keep her still and comfortable.

  The resulting white light that flooded up from the underside of the cot blinded him, and he stumbled backwards. Something about Rachel activated everything in this place. Was there anything she couldn’t do? The illumination undulated over her in bright waves, the image of her shifting in Silas’s view like a mirage in the heat of summer. In a brief moment of panic, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Perhaps this contraption was hurting rather than helping. An attempt to touch her resulted in the same effect as the door handle. The repulsion felt strange, as when holding similarly charged magnets together, but flesh never had this sort of reaction to other objects. While pondering this perplexing notion, the brightness faded, then dissipated completely.